Everything is soft.

I must be lying in moss. I must be in a forest, perhaps the one near Chattanooga, Tennessee where we went to that survival camp last year, early fall. If I listen very carefully, I hear the sound of water running and know it will be mountain-cold and clear.

They taught us to go downhill, toward the water, follow it downstream to civilization. 

I don't want to get up, though. It is so soft here. So pleasant. Cool. Calm. Old growth forest canopy puts me in deepest shade.

Just rest a bit longer, I tell myself. Gather moss while you may.

"Fucking bitch!"

"She can't have got far, not on foot."

"You sure she went this way? Not the other ... toward the camp?"

"You got fucking eyes, Dibbs? Her tracks lead this way."

"I'll drive."

"I'll fucking kill her when we get to her. I told her I would."

"Let's just get her before Boss gets back."

"Fucking kill her."

My eyes snap open when I hear noise below. I am cuddled up to a large boulder with another one looming above me. How many eons ago did they tumble down here from the upper areas of the canyon?

I don't move. Not yet.

I hold my breath and listen.

Finally, I hear the SUVs engine. I know they are following my tracks along the little creek, the evidence of my long trek in the night.

I had walked for maybe two hours before I realized what I was missing.

There was no way I was going to outrun them. No way. They'd catch me at some point no matter how far I got away from the shack. And when they did, they'd almost surely kill me. At the least, I guess, they'd beat the tar out of me. Beat me into submission.

Wasn't that what Ben was always warning me about? That if one of us ran, his men were free to do what they felt like doing once they found us?

Inspiration came to me at about that two hour mark in my hike last night. What I needed to do came to me when I hit another obstacle ... like it took that to clear the cobwebs out and make me really think devious.

It happened when I saw in the moonlight that there were some small boulders just ahead of me, cutting off the route I was taking. They came right to the stream, which was a bit wider and deeper at this point. I stepped in the water and crossed to the other side. It was a rock slide, that's what all that was blocking my way on the other side. And in the dark, with just that moonlight to lead me, it occurred to me that I could climb up the rocks, and I'd be most of the way up the canyon wall. Surely this would be smart?

I always knew they'd be coming after me in that damned SUV. Well, they couldn't drive up the rocks, could they? They'd have to get out, climb up there and follow me on foot.

Then we'd be equal.

So I crossed back to the other side and walked back and forth among the small boulders until I found a way to climb up to the high ones. But once I was up there, I looked back the way I'd come ... and that's when it hit me.

There was another answer to the bigger problem ... surviving in the open desert that day. It had been nagging at me ever since I'd started this. What would I do during the day? I couldn't keep walking in the desert when it got really hot ... people died doing that. But if I holed up somewhere out of the sun, they'd catch up right away.

What I needed was to not be out there in the open desert. I needed a hiding spot from which I could then set out without being followed so I could take refuge from the worst part of the day. I wouldn't be able to chance that if I were being followed.

So I needed to get them off my trail.

And this was my chance.

Just not the obvious way.

Instead of climbing up like they'd think I'd done here, I scrambled down the boulders but took a different route down. I went to my left instead of to my right. And I found a way down that let me simply step from a small boulder to a cropping of large rocks ... and directly into the water of the stream.

And I didn't leave one single footprint in the sand as evidence that I'd come back down.

And then I stayed in the stream, walking without leaving any trace. But instead of heading away, like I'd been doing all night, now I headed back to the shack. And past it. Far enough past it that I didn't think they'd look that far for footprints. And then I circled back and hid behind this boulder for the rest of the night.

I slept pretty soundly. I knew when they discovered me missing, they'd make enough noise to wake me up.

And they had.

So I dreamed of being somewhere else. Somewhere they'd never find me. None of them.

Not Ham.

Not Dibbs.

And not Ben.

Except ... except I let Ben visit me in the night.

What is wrong with me? He has me under his spell even though I know his mind games are all that's between us.

But I keep seeing the way he looked at me when he was holding me behind the waterfall. When he knew I wanted him. And then later, in my bed, when he knew that despite everything he'd done, I let myself see something in him that I could trust. Something tender.

Now as I listen to Ham and Dibbs drive off, going slowly up the stream, driving along its flat banks, now I sigh to myself that I have been so affected by this experience. I've been their hostage for about a week now.

But I'm still me, inside here. I won't forget that anymore.

Someday, I hope, I'll forgive myself for betraying my sense of ethics. For cooperating with a man who kills people. For helping them rob another transport. For being tricked by his eyes and his mind into giving them information that he didn't even have to force from me.

Once they are gone, I sneak into the back entrance of the shack. I look all around for what will help me. I find a steak knife to stick in my day pack. I feel better just having a weapon of some kind. I find trail mix and beef jerky. I find a lighter.

God, I wish I had a cigarette. It's been days now. But neither of these guys smokes.

Once I find supplies to take, then I think about destroying whatever could help them if they come back.

No, I can't do that. I can't make it obvious I was here or they will look for my tracks, for ones that can't be explained by me being behind the shack to wash dishes.

When they were talking, they said something about a camp being the other way. I presume we must have passed it or a road leading to it on the way in here. That it must be within reasonable walking distance.

This becomes my new goal.

I retrace the steps I took the night before in circling back. Once at the dirt road, I set off at a steady clip.

About an hour into the trek, I am hot and trying to visualize attaining my goal so that I do not falter. I think about the people after me. I picture Ham and Dibbs climbing to the top of the rock pile. I know they will. I picture them sweating and grunting. I picture them reaching the ledge I saw in bas relief in the moonlight. I picture them following it, finishing the climb up. And then looking around for evidence of where I went once I was up there.

How long will they spend up there, trying to track me?

I hope to God it's a long time.

And I figure that however long it is, when they give up, they will climb back down, pick their way around the rock slide on foot because the SUV won't fit, I don't think. And they will continue on.

At what point will they begin to realize that I could be anywhere and they have lost my trail?

I hope it's a long time.

It's the only way I'll make it.

"And you say you were kidnapped? By a gang of robbers?"

The two men are in their late sixties or early seventies, if I had to guess. But it's just a guess. 

They are prospectors. Amateurs, they say, just a hobby that brings them out on weekends to this and other relics of another age when real prospectors worked a series of small gold or silver mines north of Bisbee.

It's where we are.

Somewhere north of Bisbee.

I found them when I found the camp. It is nothing really that much more than the shack I was taken to by Ham and Dibbs. The only difference is that there is a mine entrance in the face of the canyon behind the cabin. And the cabin is nicer. At least this one is neat and it's a little bigger.

"Are you sure you don't have a phone?"

"No, ma'am."

"Not even a radio?"

They look at each other. They are sitting with me at their table. I am nervous and want to keep moving. I want them to drive me out of here in the truck that is out there. Battered and filthy with dirty dust, it looked like the finest Lexus to me when I saw it.

But they move slowly. They are old men, I think. Or maybe it's how they will become old men. By moving slowly in this horrid desert heat.

At first, I didn't see them when I got there. But I found the truck and then inside the cabin, I knew someone was staying there because of all the supplies and the way the beds were made.

So I walked to the mine entry. Called in, afraid someone may shoot if I just walked in and surprised them. They came out, one at a time, shotguns in their hands.

"It's just a girl," one said to the other, blinking at me.

"I need help," I said in my most girlish voice.

"She needs help, Josh," the other said. "What is it, sister? Who hit you?"

That's how I found out ... and then later they gave me an old mirror and I looked at my face. It was dirty, of course. But there was a definite bruise along my cheekbone. And I knew it had to come from Ham's backslap.

I wanted them to take me out of there right then and there. I begged them. They said, well, you need to sit and rest. Calm down a bit, sister. You need some food and some rest. I said I needed to get out before the gang came to find me.

They said, well, it's almost lunch time for us and we might as well all eat together before we go all the way into the town.

"How far is it to town?" I ask as they finally finish their food.

"Oh, about thirty-some miles."

"That's a long way."

"As the crow flies, sister. It won't take long."

"Please, can't we leave?"

"Sure, soon enough. We just got a few things to clean up if we're going in. And we'll pick up some supplies while we're in ... need a list."

"It's just that this gang ... we don't want to mess with them."

"What gang would that be?" the one named O'Neill says to me as Josh pauses while he gathers up the dishes they used to serve us all lunch. They've asked this question several times now and each time I haven't answered only because I was asking them to take me away in the truck.

But now I realize, we're going to go at their pace. And unless I want to beat them up and steal their truck keys, I have to have patience.

"I don't think they have a name," I say. "They are robbers."

"What're they robbing? Banks?"

"Armored transports, mostly. The kind that bring money to the bank."

They look at each other and whistle.

"And you're the law?"

"Oh. No. Not exactly. I work for an insurance company ... I was just trying to get information ... follow a lead ... and I got too close before I realized it."

"And they kidnapped you? Well, sister, that's too bad."

"They're going to kill me."

"If they were, they'd done it by now, sister."

I shake my head. "No, they are ransoming me."

"Oh, well, if they are, then when they get the money, you'll be set free and good."

"I don't think so."

"Well, sure, sister. That's how it works. They don't kill you once they got the ransom."

"These guys will."

"Why?"

"They kill." I tell them about how they shot the guards and they whistle at that. Now Josh sits back down. They want to know more about what this gang has done. I say that I can tell them while we drive.

Inside the old truck, Josh drives. O'Neill asks questions. They want to know all about the gang. I think they must just be starved for some conversation.

"And they don't have a name? This gang? You know, in my day, gang's always had names. Most times, named after the leader."

"I didn't know that," I tell O'Neill, distracted as I look behind us to keep watch in case Ham and Dibbs show up back there.

"Well, sure. Easier that way. You know the boys like that."

"You sound like you know a lot about this."

O'Neill laughs. Then Josh does. Now they both chortle. Finally Josh says, "Well, we should. It's how we met, sister. We rode with a gang when we were boys."

I glance at them, riding on either side of me in the old truck.

"It wasn't a famous gang," O'Neill says.

"Did you kill anyone?" I ask them.

"No, sister. Not us," Josh says. "We did hold up banks, though. But we never killed anyone."

We ride in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes.

I am wondering if this entire area of the country is inhabited by nothing but outlaws. It's crazy.

"The leader's name is Ben Wade," I say to break the silence.

"Hmmm," Josh says.

"Ben Wade, you say?" O'Neill says.

Crap. "You know him?"

"No. Heard the name but it's been years ago. I'm talking before our time, there was an outlaw ran a gang who was named Ben Wade. Made his name hereabouts. Robbing stages. Maybe he's some kin."

"Can't be, Josh. We'd have heard of a Wade if one'd been raised in this area, don't you suppose?"

"By God, I think you're right."

I close my eyes and let my head fall back on the seat back. Thank God. It would have been just my luck to have hooked up with Ben's uncles or something.

It is in just this moment that everything switches.

When I am thinking I am free and clear.

But I am not.

Maybe I should have calculated better. Thought about the timeline of the crime going down in Atlanta. And known they'd be returning quick, immediate. Ready to gather those left behind, including the hostage, and finish this episode in their lives.

My eyes are staring up at the truck's pickled ceiling when O'Neil says one word: "Company."

And Josh says, "Looks it, yeah."

When I look ahead, I see dust. Just ahead of us.

And before the ball of dust, the lead SUV.

Black.

"Don't shake, sister. No sense in it," O'Neil says softly. He pats my thigh.

"Stop the truck, Josh," I say, because I know it's them ... I know it's Ben and the rest of his gang. And I see that because of me, these two old coots are about to be mixed in things they don't deserve.

He pulls to the right and slows to a stop. And we are even with the second of three SUVs when the black-tinted window lowers. And then doors on all the SUVs swing open and men are pulling themselves out.

I crawl over O'Neil in the passenger seat because he's not doing anything other than looking at all these guys and I don't know what else to do.

By the time I'm out and walking around the front of the truck, Ben is slowly getting out of the car he was in. One of his men reaches me, grabs me by the arm and yanks on me. I stumble. I hear O'Neil protest.

And now I am before Ben. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses. His mouth is pressed into a line. 

"Don't hurt them," I say to him. "Please. They don't know anything. I just ..."

"Where are Ham and Dibbs?" he says, curtly, cutting me off.

"I don't know. They're looking for me."

I hear someone curse behind me, short and sweet.

Ben's jaw works, side to side. 

"I had a chance and I took it, Ben. I had to."

"Why?"

"You know why. You were never planning on letting me live through this."

"I told you ..."

"You told me a lot of things. But you always held something back, something to trick me into thinking one thing when you were going to do the opposite."

He crooks an eyebrow and then slowly removes his sunglasses. He leans in over me, making me look up at him. His voice is soft, rumbly. "I gave you my word. That wasn't good enough?"

"Then let me go now. Let them take me into town."

He gives a tired chuckle. Shakes his head. "I can't do that, Grace."

"I know. I knew it before I asked. Just wanted you to admit it."

My chin is up. I've surprised myself by standing up to him without emotion. Just with conviction. The truth is on my side.

He looks off at the truck. The two men sit there, hands up, under the gun.

"Let them go, Ben," I whisper, stepping close to him before the guy holding my arm yanks me back. "Please don't hurt them just because they were going to help me. Please."

"They were at the mine?" he asks me, studying them.

"Yes. Exactly."

"Do they know who you are? Do they know who we are?"

"No."

Ben looks at me. Right in the eyes. "No? Grace? You just walk in, ask for help and they don't ask why? You didn't tell them you'd been kidnapped? I find that hard to believe."

"Okay, I told them but not enough ... Ben, I'll do anything you want but just do not kill them. Please don't do that."

I reach a hand out, just to touch him, to make a connection. The man behind me jerks me back again but Ben snaps his finger and the guy lets me go. And now I can take a step forward, put my hand on his chest. Stand close. Feel something I shouldn't as he looks at me so solemnly.

He swallows and looks around, at the men waiting on him, at the truck, at the land around us. When he decides, he puts it into action swiftly.

"Put her in the car," he says to the man behind me. "Stay with her."

To the men in the lead car, he tells them to head on, see if they can figure out where Ham and Dibbs are. Then he strides up to the truck. As I am pushed toward the SUV, I hear him talking to O'Neil and Josh. His voice is low, steady. They are nodding at him, listening carefully.

I climb into the SUV, into the back, the seat behind the driver. The door slams after me and then I watch through the window. I am numb. I am only aware that I do not want these men killed. Not because of me. I don't care what else happens.

Ben is motioning to the guys in the last SUV. Then tips his hat to O'Neil and Josh, walks away from the truck. Josh puts it into reverse, backs up, turns it around and a moment later, Ben slides into the seat next to me as the driver and another man get in the front seat. Without a word, we take off.

I watch the truck as it moves into place behind us.

"What are you going to do to them?" I ask Ben, not wanting to look at him.

He strokes the fingers of my hand that is on the seat between us. The touch is so unexpected that I shift in my seat, turn around and look at him. 

His chin rises. "You asked me not to hurt them. I'm giving you what you want."

"You are?"

Curt nod. Low voice, just above a whisper. "I realize my word counts for nothing with you, Grace, but I've asked them to stay at their camp until we can pack and move on. I'll leave some men there, just to keep watch until we leave. There won't be any trouble. They understand the situation."

It takes me a moment to process this. And to realize I am next to him. "Thank you," I whisper then clear my throat. "Whatever happens, I understand you warned me of the consequences. But I'm grateful to you that you're letting them be."

He sighs. Looks down at where his fingers still touch my hand. I stay very still. I don't want to think. I'm tired of being afraid. There's too much going on right now to think about how hard I've failed.

At least I tried.

"Grace?" he says softly, his hand now reaching up to cup my cheek. Our eyes meet. He looks very angry right now. I try not to react. "Who hit you?"

I shake my head.

It is surprise ...

That he noticed.

That he cares.

That it matters to him.

That it makes him angry to see this bruise on my face.

That I can possibly believe he really feels that way. But I do.

"Tell me, Grace. Who did that?"

"I don't want to say."

"They'll both suffer if you don't."

"What does it matter? You'll do worse to punish me for running."

"It matters because I gave them orders. And when my men don't follow my orders, they have to pay a price."

And, really, why do I even care at this point? Why do I hold to this stubborn will to do the right thing?

"Ham."

"Yeah? Tell me what happened." His thumb strokes over the sore area.

I look away, out my window. "I fought him off. He climbed on me ... and I fought back. He hit me. That's all."

"Is that all?"

I turn and look at him. "Not that it matters to you at this point ... but, yes, that is all. Dibbs made him stop. He never tried again."

"Is that why you ran?"

I just look at him, open-mouthed, incredulous. "I ran because I heard what you said to Jeannette! About the ransom. So I knew you'd lied to me ... that you weren't just going to let me go. What did you expect me to do? Just wait here on you to come back and finish it? All Ham did was confirm that all I am to you is the ransom and that without it, I'd be worth nothing ... like every woman, apparently."

He says nothing in reply. Just looks at me.

And there is silence in the car for the rest of the trip back to the shack.

When we get there, he tells the driver to take me inside and stay with me. I think they'll cuff me or tie me up, but he just lets me sit at the rough table and wait. He paces, looking out the windows, front then back.

The other SUV must have driven on, following the tracks of Ham and Dibbs. I can't see outside from where I'm at. I wonder if Ben and the other man have walked off, trying to figure out where they are.

Maybe a half hour later, we both hear the sound of a returning SUV. And when the sound is closer, we realize it is two of them. My heart races for I fear some kind of showdown. That something significant and ugly will happen now.

We are all in trouble.

Me.

Ham.

Dibbs.

Who will pay the price for the anger I saw in Ben?

"What will he do?" I ask the guy in there with me.

"To them?"

"Yes."

"We'll find out when it happens. It won't be pretty, I warrant. You don't cross the Boss and walk away."

I hear someone step onto the dilapidated porch. And then the SUVs are there. The engines are shut off. Car doors open. Footsteps approach, scuffing boots. The man with me steps to the screen door, looks out. I stay where I am. I am staring at anywhere but where it happened. Where Ham jumped on me. Where I fought him.

Ben's voice comes through the screen door. He must be the one who stepped onto the porch. I picture him standing up there, waiting. And then he's addressing Ham and Dibbs, no doubt. "So ... what's the story? Where is she?"

So they don't know ... no one told them I had been found.

"She got away last night," Ham says. "We've been tracking her since daylight, Boss. Lost her trail not too far up. We've been casting about, trying to find it."

"She got away? How?"

"Had her secured over there ... she worked the wire loose ... and ..."

"You had her secured where?"

"In the holding pen."

"The holding pen? How? She could get through the wire with no problem."

"Dibbs cuffed her to it. To one of the wires."

There is a moment in which no one speaks. And then Ben's voice is much gentler as he asks, "You handcuffed her to barbed wire? For the night?"

Dibbs speaks up now, his voice more argumentative. "Boss, she had a nice place to stay ... under the tree over there. It was cooler than in the cabin in the day. And she was safe."

"So she was there all the time? And then you left her there at night?"

"Not the first night. First night, Ham brought her in the cabin. I didn't like the idea. You know how small it is. Only two beds. So the second night ..."

"You left her out there. All alone. With no guard. And you wonder why she found a way out of there?"

"Boss, she obeyed us real good. Gave us no problem. We never thought she'd go working her way out like that and run!" Dibbs says.

"What were my instructions?" Ben asks, his voice now louder, tougher. "Did I really need to say to you that the woman should be kept inside the cabin at night so animals didn't get to her? When I said you were to watch over her, treat her right, not touch her ... it didn't occur to either one of you that handcuffing her inside a barbed wire animal pen just might not make me happy to find out about?"

"Boss ... we didn't mean no disrespect," Ham says. "She said she was fine out there."

"Of course she did. She was already planning on how to break out, you idiot," Ben spits out. And then so quick that Ham cannot see it coming, Ben says to him, "How'd you get those scratches on your face?"

"Walked into a thorn bush, Boss. Out looking for her."

"A thorn bush."

"Yes, sir."

Ben walks slowly up and back on the porch. His boots make a hollow sound along the planks. I picture him walking, his head down, hands behind his back. I picture the men gathered before him. Ham and Dibbs are probably standing right there, tense, waiting for an explosion. The others are probably lounging against the cars, waiting for the explosion.

"If there's one thing I can't accept in a member of this gang, it's lying to me. It shows disrespect. You get a liar in a gang this tight and it eats away at us. Pretty soon, we don't know who to trust anymore."

It is ironic to me ... this little self-righteous speech of his. About trust. Honesty. Lying. That he probably believes this. But still finds the way to excuse his own lying.

"You saying you think we're lying to you, Boss?" Ham asks.

"I'm saying those scratches didn't come from a thorn bush."

There is another long moment of silence. I picture Ben, his hands on his hips, staring hard into Ham, examining him. I picture Ham sweating, licking his lips, blinking that grows worse the longer Ben looks at him. And I picture Dibbs, nervous beside Ham, itching to cast the full blame on another person but unwilling to do it in a way that makes him look weak or guilty of anything that would displease Ben.

"Did he touch her, Dibbs?" Ben finally asks.

"Not much. Boss, she's just a girl. So he tried for it. She scratched him. That's all."

"Are you challenging me? Is that what this is? You think you can take me on?"

"No, Boss."

"She's off limits. You knew that. You hurt her, you let her escape," Ben says, his voice lethal for its deceptive softness that cannot hide the venom, the threat. If I were the one he was speaking to like that, I'd be so afraid of what he'd do to me. And then it changes. His voice becomes brisker, business-like, dismissive. "I'll deal with you later. Right now, we need to get our asses in gear and cover our tracks. Cuff them. Set 'em up around the tree until we get organized to clear out of here. One of you stay with 'em."

And then he calls into the shack, where I am. 

"Grace! Come on out here."

I don't know what I'm feeling as I step out onto the porch. Where he stands facing away from me, where I only see his back. Where I walk out and am face-to-face with Ham and Dibbs who are looking at me with open mouths that turn hard and angry almost instantly. That's why he wants me out here. So they can see I am here. So they can see that what they could not do, he could.

He found me when they lost me.

He has won the testosterone battle, I suppose. All is right in their world again, I suppose. But not in mine. 

And then he does a most unexpected thing. He turns to face me. Walks two steps to reach me. Touches gently where I was hit, where there is a bruise. 

Puts his lips near my ear to say, "I'm sorry."